Lily, Lily! I am sighing
With despair and hopeless woe.
I am tortured, I am dying,
And my soul has lost its glow,
But my love evoked no pity:
You consider me pathetic.
Keep on laughing: you are pretty
Even when unsympathetic.
Лила, Лила! я страдаю
Безотрадною тоской,
Я томлюсь, я умираю,
Гасну пламенной душой;
Но любовь моя напрасна:
Ты смеешься надо мной.
Смейся, Лила: ты прекрасна
И бесчувственной красой.
«Sonnet No matter how resounding or lively, the Ia- / -mbus is weary and stilled / Among golden sparklings, / Having yielded to other harmonies. And so, suddenly on the bare twigs / Of the prose of morning, a hail of / Crackers; on the leaves by a wave of / The wand, verse gallops after...»
«Sonnet You are equally ready consorts in the / Service of flattery or reverie; should / One call you you, or call you / Thou, Second Paeon, Fourth Paeon? As on coins, your once bright / Features are eroded, and you / Pour out mossy lines of a / Gravestone, like icing on cakes. You are...»
«Sonnet I am set up for thirty years so as to / Live painfully breaking up the rays / From ghostly planets into “yes” and / “No,” into “ah!” and “baa.” So as to live worrying and grieving / Over what is already not there... / And I should certainly be a poet / If I could...»
«I love the fading of an echo after / The furious troika in the forest; / After scintillating, impetuous / Laughter I like a spell of weariness. On a winter morning I love over me the / Lilac-colored outpouring of semi-darkness. / And, where the sun was burning in spring. / Only the pink...»